


Together With You

by AifasInTheSky



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: (I'll add tags and warnings as it progresses), (Not the main characters), (mentioned) - Freeform, (srsly only mentioned but it's still there), Animal Death, Character Death, Child Abuse, Fire, Grief/Mourning, Hard of hearing!Soldier, Hoh!Soldier, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Gore, Nudity, Racism, Slavery, Strip Poker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23953858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AifasInTheSky/pseuds/AifasInTheSky
Summary: Dell and Jane's relationship through time, space and beyond.(Ficlets for the 31 Days OTP Challenge 2020)
Relationships: Engineer/Soldier (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 52





	1. Meeting You

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, I've got to admit first that I made the challenge myself. But I really wanted to give it a try, so...
> 
> Here are the prompts if you want a guide, or to try it yourselves: [[Link]](https://aifastic.tumblr.com/post/616019596553732096)
> 
> Without further ado: I hope you enjoy it! \o/

Dell had been expecting the train ride to be eventful. He wasn’t expecting to make any discoveries out of it, though.

He’d been let know two weeks in advance that he’d be traveling with the rest of the team, in order to cover his involvement in the respawn system’s calibration and the most hidden secrets of the Australium Feud. He’d already read through his teammates’ files, for his work on respawn. He knew their body mass, how they look, their most on-the-face idiosyncrasies. And oh, boy, what a sight they’d make all together. He’d been getting ready for an eventual clash since then.

“You’re smart, Conagher,” the Administrator had said. “Keep an eye on them. Make them play nice.”

So, basically, he was now Engineer and babysitter. He sighed.

The yelling could be heard from three cars away. He didn’t know who the ones fighting are, he only knew they’re loud as heck. He rose from his seat and walked towards the source of the ruckus, hoping he didn’t have to use physical force.

“… least American thing I’ve ever seen, maggot! Apologize!”

“I’m not American, you simpleton! And I can do what I want! I don’t need to explain myself to a bunch of—”

“Shut up, asshole,” a third voice yelled. “Keep the spying for the enemy team, you freak!”

“Mmmph!”

Everyone fell silent. Dell opened the door and peeked inside, and saw… Spy, Scout and Soldier? They were frozen in their places, looking nervously at an angry Pyro. Soldier was pointing at Spy’s chest with an accusatory finger, Scout had his arms up in the air and Spy… well, Spy was just standing there, tense, knife in hand.

“What in Sam’s Hill is going on?”

They all jumped in their places. Spy hid his knife. Pyro started signing and pointing at everyone, apparently explaining.

“Mmphmmphmmmph mmmmph!” he shouted, pointing at Spy.

“Don’t ‘mmph’ at me, you hideous creature!”

“Leave your teammate alone, maggot! He is right!”

Huh? Can he understand Pyro? Pyro stared at Soldier, surprised too.

“Your behavior is a shame for the entire unit! Apologize or I’ll make you!” He cracked his knuckles.

“Stop!” Dell put himself between Soldier and Spy, hands on both their chests. “Fellas, I need to know what happened. Sorry, Pyro.”

Pyro mumbled dejectedly.

“The French fry was spying on me!” Scout said, glaring at Spy. “He kept invisible till Mister America here fell over the seat he was hiding in!” Soldier and Pyro nodded in support.

“I merely wished to travel unperturbed, and happened to stumble upon your argument as a result,” spat Spy. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Dell remembered the information on their files. Father and son; Scout isn’t aware of it yet. He frowned.

“Spy, next time you want to know someone better, talk with ‘em.” Spy’s face reddened under his mask, but he kept quiet, gritting his teeth. “An apology won’t kill you, pardner.”

“Apologies,” Spy said between his teeth.

“Yeah, I don’t buy it.”

“Scout…” said Dell in a warning tone.

“Alright, alright. Apology accepted. Happy?”

Soldier opened his mouth to reply, but Dell was faster. “It’s fine by me. Be civil, boys. We’ll work together for a long time.”

Everyone mumbled and walked apart from each other. Spy fixed his suit and headed off to the next car. Scout sat down on a seat far away from Pyro, both of them looking upset, arms crossed. Soldier grumbled and headed in Spy’s opposite direction. That is, where Dell came from. Darn.

He caught up with Soldier. “Where are ya going, pardner?”

“I want a seat far away of these traitors,” he mumbled without looking at him. Traitors?

“Well, I’m heading to my car, mind if I walk with ya for a while?”

Soldier didn’t answer. He kept growling and muttering to himself. Dell shrugged and kept walking with him.

At one point, Soldier put a hand on his chest and his cheeks turned red.

“’S something the matter, buddy?”

Soldier jumped in surprise, and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.

“Are you a spy, maggot?”

“Me? Why?” he asked, astounded.

“Do not play with me. You were not here before!” he yelled.

Dell gulped. “I was! Don’t you remember? I told you I was heading to my car.”

Soldier cocked his head, considering him. He could see his blue eyes under his tilted helmet, and thus the understanding in them when it dawned on him what must’ve happened. He released him with a grunt.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, looking away. “I kept my guard low. Won’t happen again.”

It occurred to Dell then.

“Soldier,” he said. Soldier looked at him. “Are you hard of hearing?”

Soldier’s mouth curled down, and he avoided his gaze for a moment. Then he straightened up and confronted him head-on. “Soldiers have no weaknesses! I can kill a hundred men armed only with my fists, and I don’t need anything more!”

“Easy, pardner,” he said placatingly. “I wasn’t implying otherwise. It’s just… Pyro seemed glad to be understood.”

Soldier stayed silent for a while. Then he made a turn towards the direction they’d been heading in and signaled forward, arm stretched.

“Coming, private?”

“Sure, sir,” he said in a firm, clear voice with a salute.

He’d been thinking, before, that he knew all there was to know about his teammates. He was an idiot for thinking that a piece of paper would be able to hold these men.

He sat next to Soldier as he recounted the discussion he’d been having with Scout and Pyro before they’d found Spy. And heck, at that moment he sure felt glad that he’d been ordered to travel with the team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must admit I'm not an expert on deafness and hearing difficulties, but I assumed that Soldier was really flustered bc of what had happened and that, coupled with his hearing, helped him be unaware of Engie's presence. I hope I get to portray him well.
> 
> Thank you very much for reading! ♥


	2. Loss

Dell opened the front door of their home.

“Hey, darlin’, I’m home! How’s everything…”

He trailed off, seeing that no one was there. He tensed. How strange; Jane always was around at that time of the day, staying close-by so that he could say hello. _Maybe he’s at the chicken coop,_ he thought, going to check.

When he arrived, the chickens were making an absolute ruckus.

“Easy, ladies; easy!” he said in the calmest tone he could manage, which at the moment was… Not his best, to be honest.

Something had happened. Something very bad.

“Where’s Jane, ladies?” he asked, to no avail. The chickens kept rushing around, though a little less chaotically. Which allowed him to notice one thing.

_Where’s Cupcake?_

He gulped. Cupcake was the first chicken they’d raised together. He’d gifted her to Jane a few weeks after Lieutenant Bites had passed away. She’d been just a chick back then, and at least a third of the actual flock had been raised by her afterwards. She had started it all.

And Jane loved her to bits.

He looked around the chicken coop with his flashlight and, for the first time, the light fell on a blood spot on the floor, full of feathers and orange fur. With his heart in his throat, he followed the trace. It led to…

“The workshop.” He gasped. That’s one of the many places in the Conagher Estate where he always stored a health kit. Jane must’ve reacted instinctively and taken her there.

He ran as fast as he could. He opened its front door—it was a repurposed garage, one of the two that came with the property when they bought it—and, still gasping with the effort, he called as softly as he could, “… Jane?”

The lights were off. He walked in the dark, flashlight in hand, listening. He could hear muttering, though he couldn’t discern what was being said.

He found Jane near his working table.

He was kneeling in the floor, next to the health kit, hugging a messily bandaged Cupcake. She was very still as Jane rocked her softly.

“Papa is here, Cupcake, papa is home,” he reassured her.

“Jane…” he said tentatively, heart beating fast against his ribcage.

Jane looked up, helmet covering half his face. Tears ran across his cheeks. “I couldn’t save her, private,” he said. “I was not—I was not ready to hold her guts and cry her name heroically. It wasn’t—” he choked. “It wasn’t her time.”

Dell kneeled next to him, and hugged him from behind. The smell was terrible, but neither of them minded. It was not the first time they were in the presence of death, nor it would be the last. But it never got old. It would never.

“C’mon, pardner,” said Dell. “Let’s give her a proper burial.”

Jane nodded and stood up. They both walked outside again, Jane carrying Cupcake gently in his arms. Dell made a stop to grab a couple of shovels, and they headed towards their burial site.

The graves of the racoon squad stood firmly in the dark. He saw Jane give them a one-armed salute while he selected a proper place to start digging.

They buried her next to Lieutenant Bites.

“War heroes; that’s what they were,” Jane said as he watched the grave, spine straightened.

Dell put a hand on his shoulder, silently. They stayed like that for a while, silent under the light of the moon and the stars. The only noise that could be heard was the clucking of the rest of the chickens.

“Let’s go inside,” Jane eventually croaked out. Dell nodded, and they headed inside the house.

Jane kept uncharacteristically quiet through all the trip. Even when they sat on the dining table, he didn’t say a word. After ten minutes had passed, Dell was about to say something; but just then, Jane opened his mouth.

“I saw him too late,” he said, clenching his hands over the table. “The maggot fox had Cupcake in her mouth. She fought bravely, claws and beak! When I reached them, the bastard was already running for his life. One of his eyes was on Cupcake’s beak!”

“Oh… Wow.” That was… impressive. Gross, but impressive.

“I took her to the shop. I tried bandaging her.” He started trembling. “I don’t know how to fix chickens up. It was my fault.”

“Woah, stop there, pardner.” He reached over the table, covering Jane’s left hand with his. “It wasn’t your fault, not one bit.”

“I should have been faster,” he spat. “I should have heard something was wrong—”

“Jane—”

“I failed!” he shouted, tears rolling again. “I failed as a father!”

“I failed too, then” Dell said, trying to hold back his tears. “I was away when it all happened.”

“Negatory, Dell! You were there every day, you took excellent care of her, always!”

“You did, too, Jane.”

And with that, Jane dissolved into loud sobs. Dell stood up and sat closer to him, reaching to loop an arm across his shoulders, eyes wet.

They would miss her so, so much.

\-----

When Jane was already in their bed, Dell went outside to secure the rest of the chickens in their housing. He looked at them as they sat inside the chicken coop, already asleep. His heart hurt at knowing one of them was missing. But there they were, all of Cupcake’s chicks, and her friends; and he knew they were going to be okay.

He’d build a new security system, starting tomorrow. He’d tell Jane in the morning. Now they’d cuddle in the bed and try to sleep away the grief together. As they’ve always done.

And they’ll always do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry.
> 
> I followed Johnathan's lovely headcanon [[Link]](https://those-damn-mercs.tumblr.com/post/614800428132171776) || [[Link]](https://those-damn-mercs.tumblr.com/post/614960748086673408) and I ended up making a grief-stricken piece. I'm sorry. I think we need more nice things that do not end in tragedy.
> 
> My personal thought is that Engineer, after that, built the chickens this: [[Link]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=alir7BoAtug) and they get them out whenever they want, but otherwise they're well taken care of.
> 
> Thank you very much for reading!


	3. Sunshine

Dell can’t believe the guitar is in one piece.

The fall was brutal. The rests of the plane are still scattered all around them. He still doesn’t know how he managed to build their makeshift refuge, with how heavy the metal bits were. He’s been running back and forth all day, trying to salvage something, anything, that could help them. He’s lucky to have remained unscathed.

Well, not lucky, really.

Solly had taken the brunt of the fall for him.

He looks at the metal tent again. He better goes back to keep watching over Solly. Night’s falling, anyways, and he’d rather not risk it with the desert’s nocturnal fauna.

He takes the guitar with him.

It’s a small mercy, really. He feels like going mad each time he finds an unsalvageable piece of equipment, every time Solly grunts in pain and fever delirium. And they’re running out of supplies, little by little; water is especially scarce right now.

He blocks the tent with the crate he’s been using to that purpose, and sits on a rock next to Solly. He looks pale, and broken, and it’s hard to look at, knowing what he knows of those sorts of wounds and what their color and symptoms mean. He looks, nonetheless, as he tunes the guitar. He looks, because he fears he’ll stop breathing if he takes his sight away.

His hands start playing on his own that lullaby his ma used to sing.

_The other night dear, as I lay sleeping  
I dreamed I held you in my arms  
When I awoke, dear, I was mistaken  
So I bowed my head and I cried_

_You are my sunshine, my only sunshine  
You make me happy when skies are gray  
You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you  
Please don’t take my sunshine away_

“I hate sunshine.”

He jolts in surprise, his fingers stilling on the guitar. Solly keeps looking up, to the roof, eyes half-lidded.

“I hate the sun, actually,” he keeps going. “Shiny maggot—too proud and important up there, watching our every move. I don’t trust it.”

He sounds delirious, again. Yet again, he’s got a point—the sun _is_ one hell of a hazard right now.

Leave it to Solly to say the maddest, truest of things.

He starts distractedly plucking the chords.

“Close your eyes, Soldier Boy.”

And he does.

And Dell keeps playing, to keep the both of them, at least for a while, away from the worries, away from the pain and the looming danger of death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I don't know if this is cheating, but er... my mind kept going to _Lifeline_ with the prompt.
> 
> Fragment of _Lifeline_ from Engineer's POV! For context, you can read the fic here: [[Link]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14226756)


	4. Campfire

There was something calming in the cracking of the flames.

Jane stared at the fire, breathing slowly in and out, relaxing under the warmth it provided. That night wasn’t the coldest he’d ever known, but it invited one to get close to any source of warmth.

Currently, there were two nearby.

Engie was leaning on Jane’s side, wrapping the both of them with a linen quilt. He’d fallen asleep long ago and, though he usually didn’t allow unnecessary rest, this time he didn’t have the heart to wake him up. The maggot always overworked himself.

He gazed down at Engie. He looked so peaceful—a contrast from his fierce stance on the battlefield, or his tired, tense look out of it.

Guilt gripped at him, just a bit—he knew that he was at least partly guilty of it. But he also drew comfort in the fact that he could get to make him happy and relaxed like this.

His shoulder was starting to hurt under the weight of Engie’s head, but he didn’t mind. Pain was weakness leaving the body, after all. And there wasn’t anything he’d rather be doing now.

His nose was red and the wind lapped at his helmet, but the color of his cheeks wasn’t ought to the cold. That night, Jane felt the warmest he’d ever been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fluffy short piece for the fourth prompt! I hope you like it ♥
> 
> On a bad note, I can't use my laptop anymore. I'll be writing on my phone from now on; I'll have to get used to it. Bummer.


	5. Poker Night at the Rec Room

"Go fish!"

Dell brought his hands to his face. He wouldn't be able to go on much longer if that kept happening.

"Janey, y'know the rules," Demo said with a sigh. "There's a penalty." He waved his hand in the air, too done with everything. "Strip."

Dell still can’t believe he thought playing strip poker with Demo and Solly wouldn’t be that bad of an idea. He’d figured they’d have a bit of fun, share a laugh, with the bonus of getting a bit of a gun show.

But he wasn’t counting with Solly’s utter _disregard_ for decency.

“Okay!” Solly said with a grin, and discarded his undershirt to the floor in an instant.

How could someone be so _bad_ at a game? Dell cursed internally as he peeked between his fingers to see the expanse of Solly’s muscular chest, on display there for everyone to see. Dell and Demo were still fully clothed—Solly didn’t leave them time to do anything else than win.

He rubbed his red cheeks and sighed. “Pardner, wait for your turn; and _this is poker_ ,” he emphasized, hoping to at least play one whole round.

“I know what I’m doing, maggot! It’s something called strategy!”

Dell wondered what the hell he was going for, because that certainly didn’t sound like a winning strategy.

Demo face-palmed next to him. “I need to be drunker for this,” he said, and drank several gulps off his bottle.

Dell thought quickly. He needed to do something, anything, to stop Solly from stripping before… Well, before… Aw, shucks.

“So, I call,” Demo said, looking at Solly.

Solly opened his mouth to reply—but Dell, without thinking about it, shouted: “Bingo!”

Both men stared at him.

“Oh, shite,” said Demo.

Soldier looked discomfited about it. He looked to the side, grumbling and crossing his arms. Dell gulped. He didn’t bring either his helmet or his gloves. What could he take off that wouldn’t reveal too much…?

He slid off his overall’s suspenders, feeling embarrassed—not that much because he minded losing his clothes, but for the fact that it had been _clearly_ on purpose. He then shrugged off his shirt, struggling a bit to get it off in his flustered state. He was painfully aware of the fact it was taking him probably a bit too long. Last of all, he slid the suspenders on again, knowing his cheeks must be scarlet by now. Dang, he hated looking the part of blushing maiden.

He looked up defiantly. Demo was drinking again, and Solly…

Solly was staring. He couldn’t see his eyes from under the helmet, but he could feel his intense gaze on him. His cheeks were red, and his mouth was lack, open in… In what?

Dell didn’t think he could possibly feel more embarrassed, but he squared up. “Come on, Soldier Boy,” he said, looking straight at him.

Soldier shook his head and gulped. “Ch-check,” he said, and buried his face in his cards.

Dell’s brain stopped working. Solly _knew_ how to play poker. To be fair, he knew it, because Solly and Demo’d had many poker nights in the last months. But he’d completely forgotten about the fact, the current experience overwriting his second-hand knowledge.

So. What was his endgame here? He’d have to play to find out.

Demo groaned. “Not again,” he said, and started picking up the cards as Solly took off his boots. Dell simmered.

After that, the game wasn’t much of a game but a fight to try to stop each other from taking off articles of clothing and losing them in the process. Demo kept staring at his bottle as if it could save him from the chaos the game had become.

“Check!” both Dell and Solly shouted at the same time.

Demo burped. “G’ ahead,” he slurred, drinking again. “It’s yer game.” And he stood up and unsteadily headed out of the rec room, closing the door with a slam.

They both stared after him.

“We should apologize,” Dell said, still looking at the door.

“Affirmative,” Solly grumbled.

“But—” he said. Solly turned his head to look at him. “What were ya trying to do, pardner?”

Solly reddened. “I—” he started. “I might have suggested Tavish the idea!”

 _Huh?_ “…What?”

“I suggested Tavish we play strip poker!”

“Oh. Alright. That doesn’t explain—” Suddenly, the pieces all came together. “Oh.”

They both stood there in silence.

“Y’know, I’d have expected it more coming from Scout than from you.”

Solly looked to the side, clearly embarrassed.

“But hey,” he said. When he had Solly’s attention, he raised an eyebrow at him. “We still haven’t paid our last bet.”

Solly jolted, looking down at his underwear, then back at him, mouth open in surprise. Dell laughed, and Solly smirked, and they both took off their pants, grinning like madmen.

“Alrighty, then,” he said, bare-naked, taking in Soldier in all of his naked glory. “What do we do, now?”

Solly’s grin impossibly widened. He took from under the table two jars of… Was that honey?

“I have an idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Then, they proceeded to run all across the base, naked, Solly chasing Engineer with honey in his hands.
> 
> They never played strip poker again.
> 
> Thank you very much for reading! ♥


	6. Sue

There was something entrancing about Engie’s songs.

Jane didn’t always catch exactly what they said. But the way he could feel the vibration of the strings in his ribcage, along with Engie’s warm, soothing voice, made listening to him play one of his favorite activities.

“What was this one about?” he asked Engie, curious, when the song was on its final chords.

Engie tilted his head and smiled, not skipping a beat. Damn, Jane loved that about him.

“Huh…” he said in a clear voice, still plucking, now more gently, at the guitar, “it’s a song about a boy named Sue.”

He perked up, interested. “What happens to him?”

“Well, he… His father named him that, and he left him when he was young. Everyone always picked fights with him.”

He felt a pang of painful empathy. For a moment, ancient wounds he didn’t even remember started to ache again.

“But he became a mean mother hubbard, and beat them all; and he swore to find the son of a gun that gave him that name, and end his life.”

Jane didn’t search for his dad. He found him lying down in a puddle of his own blood, throat slashed, in one of the alleys he’d planned to use as a temporary home.

“Did he find him?”

“Yes, he did. And they fought to death. And Sue won.”

“He did?” He asked, heart beating fast.

“Yes, but guess what? Before Sue finished the job, his da said…” And Engie started singing.

_“’Son, this world is rough  
And if a man's gonna make it, he's gotta be tough  
And I know I wouldn't be there to help ya along  
So I give ya that name and I said goodbye  
I knew you'd have to get tough or die  
And it's the name that helped to make you strong.’_

_Yeah he said, ‘Now you just fought one hell of a fight  
And I know you hate me, and you got the right  
To kill me now, and I wouldn't blame you if you do  
But ya ought to thank me, before I die  
For the gravel in ya guts and the spit in ya eye  
'Cause I'm the son-of-a-bitch that named you ‘Sue.’”_

He could only feel the strumming of the guitar and his own heart, trying to beat his way out of his chest.

“Tell me he killed the maggot.”

Engie plucked at the guitar. “Uh… not really, pardner. He hugged him and let him go.”

Jane crossed his arms, feeling his blood boil. “He should have ended the maggot right there and then.” He felt again the ache of broken bones under his hands. “It’s not funny.”

“It’s a song, Solly,” Engie said. Jane looked at him; there was a concerned frown in his face. But it quickly changed to something more neutral. “Anyways, Sue vowed to call his own son anything but Sue. He hated that name.”

Jane’s grip on his arms slackened a bit. “Hmph.” He looked away.

Engie kept playing, starting a new, lyric-less tune.

“I don’t hate ‘Jane’,” he said. Jane startled, and looked at him.

His eyes were nothing but honest.

“Me neither,” Jane admitted. “Not anymore.”

Jane felt something shift, right there and then. He didn’t know where, though. Maybe it was just him.

They spent the rest of the evening in amicable silence, listening to, feeling, the guitar’s gentle lullaby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not songfic day, but it's music day, and I thought about this song a lot.
> 
> Song is A Boy Named Sue from Johnny Cash (or at least that's the version I know of). [[Link]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WOHPuY88Ry4) if you want to listen to it (sorry for the crappy sound quality; in Spotify it sounds better).
> 
> Thank you very much for reading and for all the support! ♥


	7. Dawn On The Countryside

It was dawn on the countryside.

Jane couldn't remember exactly where he was. He had been sleeping—in fact, he _was_ still sleeping. And it was such an odd dream.

He was in a room, and Dell was there. They were on the bed, eyes closed, relaxed, content… sleeping. It looked a lot like their bedroom, actually, but he knew it wasn’t it.

Several wood planks had fallen from the ceiling and landed on the floor, on their bedside table, in front of the door. Their framed photographs were strewn all across the room, glass broken into tiny shards that would be hellish to pull off one’s feet.

He rubbed his eyes. Everything looked blurry. It was not strange at all—his dreams never were well-defined; or coherent, even. But he wanted, this time, to see it clearly. He felt he was missing something. Something important.

He was absolutely convinced: that was not their bedroom. It was too hot, and flames licked at the walls, at the ceiling, at the loose planks. And they were just there.

His eyes fixed on one of the photographs. It was from that time they’d gone fishing—Dell had been so worried when he had started wrestling with the giant fish… Though he shouldn’t have. Did he doubt him? They’d been so angry at each other that day. But they had made peace after a round of shouting and a desperate make-out, which was nice. More than nice. Ahem.

Until the boat had toppled over.

That brought back another memory of a wet Dell, from that time the team decided to make their annual meet-up on the beach. Spy had complained about the sand for the whole thing—or at least, he’d have if Sniper hadn’t shut him up with an elbow to the waist, pointing at a happy Scout who was splashing among the waves with Pyro in tow.

He’d almost—almost—not noticed; though he hadn’t really understood the exchange until Tavish explained their family bond.

He’d been soon distracted by Dell’s deep, joyous laugh as he made the sea water pool into his hand and threw it on his head to battle against the hot weather. Dell had looked so happy there, letting the waves lap at his thighs, that Jane’s heart had done acrobatics inside his ribcage. Heavy had told him something about sunburn and he’d realized, absolutely mortified, that he’d been blushing all that time.

And the day they lost Lieutenant Bites. And the day Dell brought Cupcake home. And the moment they lost her. And the moment their last chicken said goodbye to them. And the time Dell finished his engineering book. And that other time…

Soon the memories started coming faster, and faster, in an unending chain of circumstances that ended, inevitably…

Here. Now.

But where, when, was here and now?

“Jane. Buddy.”

He turned his head to the side. Dell was there, with a bittersweet smile under his long-turned-white beard.

“What is this, Dell?”

“Well,” he said, eyes sad. “I’m no expert on this sorta thing, pardner. But I’m quite sure… This is the end of the line.”

_... Oh._

Then it was finally clear.

It _was_ their room. They _were_ there. The planks _were_ all over them, and there _was_ fire all around.

They were _not_ sleeping.

The Conagher Estate was engulfed in flames. A forgotten meal in the stove was guilty of the crime. His heart hurt at thinking of all those good memories, turned into ashes forever. But he looked at Dell next to him, and he didn’t feel so bad anymore.

“We gave a long fight,” Jane finally said.

“That we did, Jane; that we did.”

And Dell’s beard was the color of honey again, and Jane could see it clearly now, no need for those infuriating glasses he’d been struggling with.

“Let’s go.”

“Where?” asked Jane, without caring for the answer—as long as Dell was there with him.

Dell smiled warmly. “Forward.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today (well, yesterday) was songfic day, and Spotify's shuffle said "Amanece en la ruta" by Suéter [[Link]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=puT-79fPTNk). Well, this isn't quite what the song said, and I feel like I could've done better, but I'm currently really struggling with work. Sorry.
> 
> I'll upload an English translation of the song as soon as I can, I promise.
> 
> Also I don't think of this as the "canon" ending of this series, to be honest--Medic made sure none of the mercs could die, Soldier took the "kill me come back stronger" pills from Merasmus... But well. It is what it is.
> 
> Thank you very much for reading!


	8. The Tale of The Soldier and The Engineer

The Conaghers were as much part of Bee Cave as the canteen. And Dell was no exception.

Every Conagher left the town at some point early in life, then came back with many diplomas and a humbling amount of knowledge, which they put to use for the townsfolk. They had a workshop in the outskirts of town, where they could work in peace both in people’s requests and in their own projects.

Everyone thought of Dell as the tamest of the Conaghers.

He’d followed the family tradition and come back to take charge of his father’s abandoned workshop. Thank God the man left, said the gossips of town. They said the man was a drunkard, and a madman as well. It was rumored he beat his wife and child. And Mr. Jenkins had seen him leave with a shotgun in his belt. Bandit, they all called him behind his back.

Dell, though, was a kind soul. Despite all the rumors surrounding his family, he was the opposite of what his pa had been. Sober, nice and always willing to help. However, those with evil tongues said he hid a hot temper under that affable mask. And that he did it too well. They expected Dell Conagher to crack and show that he didn’t only get his smarts after his father.

Dell knew this. And seemed determined to prove them wrong.

\-----

One day, a stranger came into the town, bleeding profusely as he barely hung from his horse.

“H-he’s coming,” he stammered to the local doctor.

“Who?” the doctor had asked, squeezing his patient’s hand with apprehension in his heart.

“Doe…” the man said. “Doe-Eyed Jane.” And he fainted, leaving the doctor trembling in his wake.

\-----

He was rumored to be a soldier from the North during the Civil War that had gone mad in the middle of it and forgotten it had come to an end. The tales of his bloodshed had reached all corners of the country. Wherever he went, he only left a carnage and destruction in his wake. Some lived to tell the tale, but they were few and unlucky, always left with missing limbs and a pain impossible to take away.

He never removed his helmet.

It covered the top of his head up to his nose. Some said it was to be unable to see all the suffering he caused. A more benevolent few said it was a symbol, like blind Lady Justice felling her sword over those who deserved it.

Some others said, however, it was to cover his eyes, because they told too much.

\-----

Dell woke up to the noise of the door of his workshop opening.

He’d meant to put some oil on it, but now he was glad for his procrastination. He took his lamp and walked down the stairs to check, making sure to miss the creaky planks on the floor. He grabbed his shotgun in the way, ready for anything.

He entered the workshop through the back door that connected it with the house. It creaked too, and he cringed, raising his shotgun as a precaution. His lamp illuminated far enough to scan the whole area, at least superficially so.

He saw a foot peeking out from behind his cart.

He approached, weapon raised, listening to labored breaths—were they his own? Or were they someone else’s? His heart beat hard against his chest as he neared the cart and the threat it hid.

He stepped forward, cocking his shotgun.

A man was lying in the floor, breathing heavily. A pool of blood covered the hay he was lying on, which couldn’t mean anything good for him. He was unconscious, eyes closed, and he had a big gash on his head. Oh; head wounds bled more than most others. Although the man’s clothes were ripped and full of bullet holes too.

His clothes…

They were old North military dress code, and a helmet was in the man’s big hand.

He froze. Darn.

\-----

Jane woke up hours later, when the sun was already up.

Dell wasn’t there to see it. He’d treated Jane’s wounds as best as he could, asking himself why the whole time. There was something about him, though, that made him give him a chance.

So, Jane woke up covered in bandages, clothes from the waist up gone, and his helmet neatly placed next to him.

He quickly took it, and put it on. He sat with a wince, taking inventory of his injuries and their treatment. Not bad; whoever did it had definitely treated those kinds of wounds before. He needed to find them, to thank them for their brave service in this godforsaken land.

He tried to get up, leaning on the cart next to him, but he slipped on the hay and fell with a shout of surprised pain.

Well, if that didn’t summon his host…

Dell barged into the workshop, shotgun in hand. Jane blinked at it, still dizzy from his fall.

“What’s going on?” Dell asked, tense.

“Nothing, maggot,” Jane answered, shaking his head.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Mister.” Dell cocked his gun. “I know who you are.”

“Really?” Jane grinned. “Thank you, then, fellow American! You’ve made me proud and your entire country too!”

“I seriously doubt that,” Dell muttered.

“I—” He made up to rise again to the same effect. He growled, clutching at his side. “I need shelter, maggot.”

“You sure do, Soldier Boy.” His weapon stayed trained on Jane. “Why would I give it to ya?”

“Why did you save me?” Jane asked in return.

Dell hesitated. That… was a darn good question. Why, indeed? By doing so he’s put in jeopardy his reputation again. Hell, he’s put the whole town in danger! And yet…

There was something, something he couldn’t pinpoint, that gave him pause.

“Fine. Stay.” Dell lowered his gun. “But don’t try anything on me,” he warned. “Fair warning; I can outsmart ya any day.”

And with that, he turned away and disappeared through the back door, leaving a confused Jane behind.

\-----

Jane couldn’t visit the town.

Dell made sure of it. He made the rules the first day, when he came back with Jane’s clothes in his arms.

“No killing, that’s for sure. You stay in the house. No one can know you’re here; understood?”

Jane had grumbled, but complied. He had no other choice—he knew he was a searched man, and in no condition to fight his way out of any jail or noose. He needed to recover, and for that he needed shelter and secrecy. Dell…

Well. Dell needed the same, in a way.

Dell couldn’t afford people knowing he was hiding such a violent, dangerous man. Heck, he didn’t even know why he was doing it in the first place; the fact remained that he was doing it, though. Saving Doe-Eyed Jane was his death sentence, and his own way to tarnish the family name. But the deed was done.

So, Jane stayed.

He slept in Dell’s parents’ old bed. Dell had never wanted it for himself, accosted by old, god awful memories as he was when he was in the room. So, Jane could keep the king-sized bed—it’d be good for his injuries, in any case. He always woke up at six a.m. sharp, which clashed with Dell’s constantly changing schedule. Dell’s mornings were always relative to whatever he was working on at the moment and how much he became involved in the project.

Jane learnt quickly not to mess with his schedule.

“Wake up, private!”

Two nights in, Jane stumbled out of his bedroom and towards Dell, hitting the walls with his fist.

“Rise and shine, maggot! The day is young and there’s men to ki—I mean, uh… cows to catch? Whatever sorry excuse of a job you have.”

There was no answer. Jane got vey annoyed.

“Do not play games with me, maggot! You will rise immediately or there will be consequences! Of the dire kind!” Still; utter silence. Scratch that, Jane was starting to get worried. “Maggot? Are you alright? Answer me, private!”

He growled. He was not in his best shape; not at all. He probably could force his way in, but it would reopen his wounds. Still! He couldn’t leave his comrade in arms down. He wouldn’t!

With a battle cry, he threw all his body weight against the door of Dell’s bedroom. It fell open with a loud slam, and Jane fell gracelessly onto the floor with a wheeze.

“Maggot!” He lifted himself up onto his elbows, wincing. “Are you—”

His voice uncharacteristically died down. Dell was looking straight at him, bloodshot eyes wide open. His glare could kill a thousand men; he was sure of it.

“Get out.”

“I—” He started.

“Get out!!”

Jane scrambled to his feet, pain be damned, and limped as fast as he could out of the bedroom. When he was back on his own, checking his wounds, he heard the door slam.

“It wasn’t even locked!” Dell yelled, and Jane cringed.

Okay, then. He made a mental note: do not interfere with the maggot in the morning.

\-----

Dell was glad that he lived pretty far away from the rest of the town. Jane was something else when it came to noise-making; they would’ve been discovered back in day one if it weren’t for the couple of miles that separated them from Bee Cave.

One time he woke up to the noise of metal clashing against metal, and ran down the stairs to investigate.

He found Jane in the kitchen, forcefully moving around strips of bacon in his old pan with a spatula, leaving a mess of grease behind.

“What in Sam’s Hill is that ruckus?” he asked, entering the kitchen.

Jane jumped, almost dropping the bacon on the floor. The pan caught on fire without him noticing.

“Ah, morning, private! I’m making breakfast! The most important meal of the day!”

“Jane!”

Jane looked at the pan, mouth opening in surprise. He quickly slid a lid over it, effectively putting off the fire. Dell sighed, and wondered how many times sometimes like that had happened.

“I can see that, pardner, but can y’all keep it down? You’re gonna wake the whole town!”

Jane looked at the charred bits of bacon, a grimace in his face.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, looking oddly chastised. Dell raised an eyebrow.

“Now, I appreciate the attempt, partner. Just… Try to keep it down next time, alright?”

Jane grimaced, but nodded. He started putting all the bacon on a plate, clearly intending to eat it by himself. _That won’t do_ , thought Dell. Jane had been thoughtful enough to make breakfast for two. Also, looking back, he’s been quite an awful host lately, dangerous as his company might be.

“Hold on, pardner; let me treat ya.”

“Don’t worry, maggot,” said Jane, waving him off; but Dell was quick to grab his plate and put it out of reach. “Hey!”

“On the house,” Dell said, cleaning the pan.

When Dell slid Jane the plate with delicious-smelling eggs and bacon, Jane’s mouth watered.

“Thanks, private!” he said, grinning, and dug in. Dell took it as a compliment to his food that it quickly disappeared, without any visible crumbs left.

Despite himself, he smirked. In other circumstances, he guessed he could bear a little noise here and there.

\-----

“What are you doing, maggot?”

Dell looked up from his latest project. He’s been working on an invention of his own, this time; and he was sure it’d be popular with the townsfolk.

“Ah, you see, it’s just a contraption of my own doing.”

“What are you, a toymaker?”

Dell grimaced. “Actually, boy, I’m an engineer.” He wiped his brow, looking deadpan at Jane. “I solve practical problems. Sometimes I do it fixing broken machines…” He grinned. “Sometimes making _new_ machines.”

“That’s amazing, maggot!” Jane shouted, enthusiastic. Dell couldn’t help but feel warm at the praise.

“Thanks, pardner,” he said. “For instance, see this thing here?”

“Affirmative!”

“It’s a device that uses electric energy to make toasts.” He patted it with his gloved hand. “I call it ‘toaster.’”

Jane looks at it, fascinated. “How does it work?”

“Well, it ain’t finished yet, but I should plug this in this battery here—” he pointed at a bunch of metal barrels in a wooden support “—and the wires should warm up enough to, well, toast the bread.”

“Amazing!” praised Jane. “You’re a pride to your people, Engineer!”

Dell’s cheeks tinted. “Aw, shucks.” But his mood soon soured, thinking about what his people would say of him if they knew who he was hosting right then.

“Engineer?”

“It’s nothing,” he said, giving Jane a lopsided smile. “Think I’m gonna… Rest for a while. Yeah.”

Jane watched him with concern as he trudged up the stairs.

\-----

A couple of weeks later, Dell woke up to someone’s shout outside the house.

“Coming!” he yelled, blinking the heaviness in his eyelids off. He found Jane in the kitchen, watching from the window. “Hide!” he hissed in his ear, dragging him away.

“Hello, Mr. Conagher,” said the stranger outside.

“Hello, Mister,” he replied, approaching him. “To whom I own the pleasure?”

“Hank Collins, at your service.” The man—Hank—tipped his white gallon hat.

“Welcome, Mr. Collins.” Dell smiled amicably enough. He noticed Hank leaned a bit on his right side. “Can I be of your assistance?”

“I’ve been told you got a knack for making contraptions,” he said. “’Solve practical problems,’ they said.”

“That I do, Mister.” Dell grinned. “What do y’all need?”

“You see, I’m in a bit of a pinch.” He uncovered his right side to show his many bandages and—Dell gulped—a missing hand. “I’m being followed by one of the most dangerous men in the country—hell, maybe in the world. I need to be ready to face him off.”

“Sorry to hear that, pardner,” he said, brows furrowing. Inside he was panicking. Did he mean… “But I’m no doctor. I can’t do nothing for you.”

“Wait,” Hank said. “I just need to be able to shoot. The most accurately possible. And you see,” he smirked mirthlessly. “I’m not ambidextrous.”

Dell considered him, gears turning. Something didn’t sit right with him. That man… There was something odd going on.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t help ya.”

And he turned back and walked back to the house, just in time to miss Hank’s twisted expression.

“Well, then, Mr. Conagher,” Hank muttered to himself, looking at the empty window again. “You just picked the wrong side.”

\-----

“That man is scum,” Jane said as soon as Dell stepped foot on the house.

Dell didn’t answer. He kept turning the information he got around his head. Trying to sort out the ugly feeling in his stomach he brought with him from the conversation.

“That man is the owner of one of the most brutal places in the world. He profits from pain and slavery. This is unacceptable!”

Dell heart stops. Could he be a…?

“Jane… Calm down.”

“Calm down?” Jane sneered. “I do not know how much of the world you know, locked up inside, playing with your toys.” He jabbed a finger at his chest. “But there are these kinds of men, maggot. Men who live lives built in other people’s suffering. Men who rape wives and children and everything in between and tear apart everything this nation is built on. I am stopping these men.”

Dell stared at him. Jane was furious, his breath ragged. He himself felt sick at the bone at knowing what—who—he’d been dealing with.

He made a decision. A provisory one, at least.

“Keep hiding, Jane,” he said. “Recover. You’ll need the strength.”

“And what will you do, tinkerer?” He growled.

“Hell if I know, Jane.” He retreated to his workshop, where he’d left his shotgun. “Hell if I know.”

\-----

“Why did you destroy those places?”

Jane looked at Dell, surprised. He could only see his shadow standing at the doorstep of his room.

“I did not—” He started. _I did not mean to._ He gulped. He felt that was important. “People were dying. Dell. They were worse than dying.” He stopped for a moment. “I set them free.”

And he had. Those people had run off from the town, crying tears of joy and pain alike as they watched their prisons burn. They ran off to fulfill better destinies that what they ever thought was in store for them.

“Are they even alive?” Dell asked.

“I hope so,” said Jane. “I God damn hope they are.”

Silence fell over them. He looked as Dell’s back straightened up.

“Call me Dell,” he said, and disappeared. Jane wouldn’t be sure in the morning that it hadn’t been a weird dream.

When the moment came, though, he called him Dell anyways.

\-----

“Conagher!”

Dell hadn’t slept a wink that night. He’d stood inside the workshop, weapon in hand, watching. Just in case. He suspected something might happen, and he was spot on.

The sheriff and his helpers were waiting for him outside, Hank Collins among them.

“’Tis the man, Sheriff!” he said, pointing at Dell with his wobbly left hand. “He’s the one hiding Doe-Eyed Jane!”

“Is that true?” the sheriff asked. He took his hat down. “Dell, please tell me it ain’t true.”

Dell knew it was bound to happen. He could lie; he was a good liar. But the number of men the sheriff had brought meant they’d definitely believe the man with the money first. He readied himself.

“Would ya believe me, Frank? From the bottom of your heart.”

The sheriff’s eyes widened. “Oh, no. Oh, you mother hubbard. You did it.” He glared at him. “After all your work clearing up your pa’s name, you’re throwing it away?”

“This man believed in me more than the whole town, Frank.” He looked pointedly at the two dozen people behind the sheriff, and the multitude that he could see gathering behind.

“And with good reason, it seems!” The sheriff put his hat back on and cocked his gun. Dell answered in tow. “Now hand over Doe-Eyed Jane and maybe you’ll be able to live a long live. Where, I can’t promise ya.”

“Sorry, sheriff,” he started, “but it seems—”

Someone gasped. The smell of smoke made Dell turn around, just to see his workshop on fire. Wh-what…?

He remembered the battery. “Take cover!” he yelled, and everyone ran away of the place. Soon enough, there was a big explosion that engulfed both the workshop and the house. Dell didn’t have a spare moment to grieve for his contraptions when he—and everyone—heard:

“It is me you are looking for, maggots!”

Dell closed his eyes. Jane exited the house and, immediately, all men pointed their weapons at him.

“Doe-Eyed Jane! You’re under arrest!”

“Not if you do not spare Dell,” he said. Then he sneered, looking pointedly at where Hank was cowering behind the sheriff’s men. “And not if you don’t let me finish what I started.”

“We’ll never allow you—”

“Wait,” said Hank, limping out of the barricade of men. “If this will fix things…”

“You’re injured, Mr. Collins!” said one of the men. “Leave this to us!”

“Well.” He smiled lopsidedly. “It’ll prove what kinda man he is if he’s willing to put an end to my life without an even fight.”

Jane growled. “It won’t prove anything, maggot. The world will be a better place without you in it.”

“And what’s to say the same can’t be said from you?” Hank said, smirking. Strange, thought Dell, for a man in such a disadvantage.

“Oh, you—“ Jane made to throw himself at Hank.

Dell saw it then—the steady hand reaching for the pistol. He’d lied, at least out of omission; the fact remained that he could fire with his left. Jane was injured, and he wouldn’t be fast enough to react. He was going to kill him.

At that moment, Dell Conagher—once again—picked a side.

Bang! Bang!

Hank Collins fell to the floor with several holes in his chest. At the same time, Jane stumbled backwards and fell, his helmet flying away. Everyone ran to aid Hank Collins as Dell ran towards Jane, heart in his throat.

“Jane!” he yelled. Darn, darn, darn.

Jane groaned in the floor, head lolling to the side.

“Where did it hit?”

“Helmet,” he rasped.

Dell went to retrieve his helmet and, to his surprise, found it full of his schematics. He felt warm all over.

“Here,” Jane said.

Dell came back to him. Now he could see that Jane fit under his clothes all the schematics he could find.

“Why did ya do it?” asked Dell softly. “Why did you set my home on fire?”

“I set you free,” said Jane, finally staring directly at Dell.

And Dell could see the truth in that man’s eyes. How could he ever abandon him now?

“Catch them!” A voice said.

Dell helped Jane up and they ran as fast as they could to the men’s horses. Unbeknownst to them, the sheriff stopped his men and left them take two horses and run away.

“Why did you do that, Sheriff?”

The sheriff spat on the floor.

“Y’know? I felt we, in some way, owed it to them.”

And thus the stories started to run of a new pair of bandits. The Soldier and the Engineer, traveling around the West and—just occasionally, when Engineer couldn’t stop it—wreaking havoc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... started writing this eons ago. I wanted to post it for day 8 (AU) but it became a 3k word monster. Also it deals somewhat indirectly with an awful topic that, apparently, still needs to be addressed nowadays because the system--and many people--are shit.
> 
> I apologize if it's timed poorly. The least thing I want now is to bring more controversy to the table. People should keep fighting for change and I don't want to muddy the waters from my place far away from the States. I want to fight from my own place. But yeah, of course, black lives matter.
> 
> Please feel free of telling me to put the story down if it's hurting the cause, and I will.
> 
> Also let it be said that I do not condone white people destroying stuff in protest or for the sake of being destructive, because they're doing more damage than good.
> 
> \-----
> 
> On another note, let's talk inaccuracies:
> 
> -This is the sort of toaster Dell is making: [[Link]](https://images.app.goo.gl/Yu4Vb5HiRxuF21At7) It's a model that came to be in the first decade of the 20th century, despite the story happening around 1870, 1880.
> 
> -Bee Cave started in the 1850's, apparently. The town probably wasn't big enough by the time the story occurs. I just wanted to at least be accurate with TF2 canon and give Dell the same hometown.


	9. Forever Young

Sometimes, Dell mourns. But it’s odd to mourn your old age, isn’t it?

He guesses the world is a strange enough place, though. After all, if there are wizards and flying eyes and Australium, what else could surprise him?

“What are you thinking about, private?”

Dell smiles. Jane still calls him that most of the time, after all this time. Slim had asked him once, having a beer with him in the New Mexico desert, if he wouldn’t rather have him call him by his name. It’s a distant memory, now, one of those that only come to you in specific occasions. Today he’d answer him the same he did back then: he wouldn’t trade the soft, private way he said Dell’s name for anything in the world.

He ponders Jane’s question in silence.

“Don’t ya wish sometimes you could grow old?”

He can feel Jane’s confused stare on him. He coughs.

“I mean… I dunno.” He kicks a little stone. “Not that I don’t like, y’know, not having creaky knees. But… You know.”

He was never the best at philosophical matters. There is something that he can’t explain about sharing your life with someone while knowing every passing minute is inevitable, could be your last. Thanks to Medic’s questionable surgery, and Merasmus’s pills, they don’t have that luxury anymore.

“I sometimes wish we could grow old together, Solly.”

He can hear Jane’s confusion even before he replies.

“Isn’t that what we’re doing, private?”

And one of his questions is answered. What’s the difference between growing old and living? Jane doesn’t seem to mind. And should he? It’s just a matter of time, he guesses. Which is… the actual unnerving thing. Forever is a long time.

“Doesn’t it sometimes scare you?” he asks Jane, in the end, feeling somewhat small. “Living forever?”

Jane, of course, is very straightforward.

“Why would I? I know what I want. I know how I want to live. I know who I want to share my life with. You, Zhanna, Tavish, the rest of the team.” He gestures back at their house, where boisterous laughter and rowdy voices can be heard inside. They’re having one hell of a time, it seems. “We are in this together. We are not alone. And we are not lost.”

Dell chuckles. Then he starts cackling. Leave it to Jane to, once again, put him back on the rails.

“What is it, maggot?”

“Nothing, pardner,” he tells him with an honest smile. “Things are really much simpler than what I make them be sometimes.”

Jane doesn’t say anything. Instead, they both look at the wheat field as it undulates with the wind, the afternoon sunlight making it akin to a golden ocean.

Those plants of wheat will die. Their seeds will be eaten by them, and by the birds, and they’ll grow anew, many times; and they still will be there to witness it. Many, many generations of wheat will pass in front of their eyes.

With Jane—and everyone—at his side, the prospect doesn’t scare him that much anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day nine's prompt was "Growing old." I had enough with Broken and most of these ficlets about angst and the passing of time, so I decided to go for one of my headcanons: immortal mercs. I'm working on a helmet party fic around a similar--though most disparate--concept, anyways.
> 
> I'm not looking forward to the next prompt, so it'll probably take a while. You can check the prompt list here! [[Link]](https://aifastic.tumblr.com/post/616019596553732096)
> 
> Thank you very much for reading! ♥


	10. A Matter of Labels

Dell slammed the door of his workshop, red-faced. His chest heaved as he tried to regain his breath, the echo of his last words still reverberating in his ears.

He had enough.

He could deal with Jane’s craziest ideas, with his oddest moods, but hell if he was going to deal with his meanness. He exhaled shakily, rubbing his face with his hands. He wouldn’t cry; heck no. He couldn’t admit he wanted to either, or else he would.

He rested his back on the door, and slid down to the floor.

His hardhat presumably lied on the other side, where he’d thrown it at Jane in his rage. He should retrieve it soon, but he didn’t feel ready to open the door yet. Jane had touched a nerve. And while he knew Jane could often do that unintentionally, that wasn’t the case today. And that he couldn’t forgive right now.

There was nothing but silence on the workshop, and outside of it too. The house seemed empty, all of a sudden. It was deafening, in a way—or maybe it was his brain running in circles, repeating the argument in his head over and over again. He knew he shouldn’t, he should work on clearing his head, but he couldn’t help but think, think, think.

“Engie?”

Dell jumped at Scout’s loud voice at the other side of the door. He sighed. How did he not notice? Scout was rarely quiet. “What’s wrong, Scout?”

“Are you alright? I saw Soldier leave and—Oh.” Scout looked at his face, and Dell was all too aware of the heat in his cheeks and the itch on his eyes. “Nevermind.”

“Will ya hand me my hat, pardner?” he said, extending a hand.

Scout looked around. “What hat?”

Dell closed his eyes and shut the door, resting his head on the frame. Dagnabbit.

\-----

It _had_ seemed odd to him that the team decided to organize the annual meeting earlier. It did.

Well, until Jane had popped the question.

The silence had been awful. Not that he’d noticed, as his heart had been beating like mad against his ribcage. But not because of elation. Oh, heck no. He was _afraid_.

How could he have explained why he said no?

He loved Jane. He did. He loved him so much he’d agreed to spend the rest of his life with him, there at the Conagher Estate. But marriage is a foul thing. He’d seen it in his parents; he’d seen it in uncountable other couples in the town and outside of it. It strained things. If—If ma and da hadn’t married, they could’ve been free long before the screaming and object-slamming started.

It hadn’t been a happy time.

Dell didn’t believe in marriage. And he’d sworn he’d never follow the same steps. Jane, however, seemed to have other plans. And, while well intentioned enough, Jane’s ideas not always were the best.

At least Slim was there. Slim knew about his opinion on marriage; he probably came to offer the support Dell otherwise wouldn’t have.

“I’d thought you’d have got over it,” Mundy said.

Dell, lowered his beer bottle, looking at him like he’d popped another head. “What’d ya mean?”

“I mean, uh, the marriage thing.” Mundy’s hands twirled in the air, as if encompassing the whole ‘thing.’ “I mean,” he clarified, most probably hurried by Dell’s glare. “I thought maybe Soldier was the guy. Maybe living with him went to prove that there _can_ be good things, you know.”

Dell took a gulp off his bottle. “It’s not _that_ ,” he spat. “Look at our fight right now. Don’t ya think we’ll have a thousand more if we tie the knot?”

“But marrying’s not about not arguing,” Mundy said. “You should’ve seen mom and dad—you could’ve heard them from miles away—they were a couple of obstinate bullheads. But that didn’t mean they didn’t love each other.”

“But that’s the thing right there, Slim.” He went to take another gulp, only to find the bottle empty. He groaned in despair. “It’s not healthy. For anyone involved.”

Mundy passed him a bottle. “It depends. Say, you’re not married. Would you’ve said that what you had with Soldier was toxic?”

“No! No, I don’t think so.”

“Exactly. And, say, have you two argued, and loudly so? Besides right now, I mean.”

Dell suppressed a whistle. Oh, had they argued. Jane can be as stubborn as a wall, and he wasn’t any better. That went without saying they were two loud motherhubbards.

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Don’t ya think it’ll be just… more of the same? I mean, arguments, yes, but also cooking, taking care of the chickens, playing checkers… It’d just be symbolic, anyways. It’s not like it’s legally or religiously possible, mate.” Mundy said, wistfully. Dell wondered who he was thinking about. “And it seems to matter to Soldier.”

“I can’t believe you’re siding with him,” Dell grumbled. “I also can’t believe you’re making sense.”

“Hey! I’ve got a lot of sense up here.” Mundy glared at him playfully. “And you have, too. I just… ask you to think about this more deeply, before hurting your partner even more.”

And with a pat on Dell’s shoulder, Mundy left the kitchen. Dell sat there, thinking, and doing even more thinking, until the sun peeked over the horizon.

\-----

The team was readying themselves to leave.

Dell decided it was as good time as any to talk to Jane. He still was resentful for what he’d said to him, but he could understand better where it was coming from. And if experience with Jane told him anything, they needed to set things clear as soon as possible.

When he approached Jane’s room, the door was unlocked.

“Jane?”

Jane was sitting on his bed, staring down at his yellow hardhat while twirling it in his hands. When he realized someone had come in, he quickly lifted his head, and stared at Dell with an uncharacteristic silent frown.

His eyes shone with sadness, and fear, and frustration. Dell wanted to wipe that look off his face, but he didn’t know how.

“I’m sorry, Dell.”

The words startled him. “Wha—what for, Jane?”

Jane gulped. “For what I said to you. And for… And for thinking we were on the same page. I should not have invited the whole team. And I should not have… reacted like that.” He didn’t look away, not even once, when he said this. His brave Jane. “I’m sorry.”

Dell could feel a knot in his throat. He hoped he was not tearing up, because he definitely felt like it. “I…” He almost choked in the fear and hope and love he felt at the moment. “I’m sorry too. I’m not…”

“I understand, Dell,” Jane said, eyes pained. “I will not ask again.”

“No!” Dell shouted, startling Jane. “Wait. I’m sorry. I mean… Give me time. Please. I love you, Jane, don’t you ever doubt that. I just… You know about my da.”

Jane growled. “I’m not your dad.”

“I know. I know. And me neither. That’s why I ask for a bit of time. I… I haven’t seen happy marriages in forever, Jane.”

“You know about my parents too.” Dell flinched. “But a wrong marriage doesn’t mean you can’t try to find happiness for yourself.”

“Yeah, it’s true, Jane. I just wondered if marriage is needed in order to be happy.”

Jane seems to think about it. “I was pretty happy before all this, so… No, I don’t think so. But,” and Jane’s gaze burned with hope, “God if I don’t want to marry the hell out of you.”

Okay, Dell was absolutely crying right now. “I can’t promise anything, Jane. I just… need time to… get over all of it. But if I promise anything, it’s that I’ll work on it. I promise. I love you so much, Jane, and… I think that I want to, too.”

Jane’s eyes started to water, too, and he got up from the bed. They moved in unison and they met in the middle, hanging onto each other like a lifeline.

“I’m sorry, Jane.”

“I’m sorry too, cupcake.”

“Oh, so there was the hat.”

They both jumped at Scout’s voice, and looked towards the door, where Scout was looking at the hardhat Jane had dropped to the floor. Then he looked up and saw the wet, snotty, messy way both men were at the moment and said: “Eugh!”

“Go away, Scout!” Jane yelled, and Dell couldn’t help but laugh.

“Wait, so that means the wedding’s still on?”

Dell stiffened on Jane’s embrace, and the man certainly noticed, because he hurried to say: “Negatory! But we will make sure to call all of you when we are certain it will happen! I’m sorry for the false alarm!”

Dell relaxed once again, and smiled against Jane’s shoulder. With Scout, the news would run fast. He’d have to gather everyone together and tell them at some point, though. But right now, he was reluctant to leave the comfort of Jane’s arms.

He wondered if that was what marriage would meant. Just a vocal confirmation of each other’s silent vows. He wondered if they weren’t married already, in a way.

He knew, at that point, that they’d be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm not sure I'm too happy with how this turned out. But that's merely because I'm of Dell's same opinion and I haven't found the exception to the rule yet, let's say.
> 
> The important thing is that they love each other. It's in the way they express it. And marriage may be one of them, but not the only way and not always the right one. I dunno if I got to convey it right. I think not. Well.
> 
> Also we're one third into the challenge! Awesome! \o/
> 
> Thank you very much for reading! ♥


End file.
